


Once Upon a December

by Eisengrave, Maelikki



Category: Bleach
Genre: Gen, nothing romantic at all, pre-Bleach canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 07:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16828351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eisengrave/pseuds/Eisengrave, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maelikki/pseuds/Maelikki
Summary: The first soul is one you remember. For Byakuya, that holds more truth than for most. His first day as a shinigami doesn't exactly go as planned.[a cute little idea that was had and executed]





	Once Upon a December

The sun in the Living World felt no different than the one in Soul Society. 

Although he’d been here a few times already, it was always odd to notice that things were so similar in places that were, quite literally, worlds apart from one another.

It wasn’t his first time, but he was tense nonetheless as the World Gate closed behind him. He’d always been here with some member of his family or his teachers, or both, in that regard, but never alone. At least, before now.

An high honour to be deemed ready by his grandfather, head of the family, captain of the Sixth Division and a man Byakuya very much aspired to become like once he took his rightful place as leader of the Kuchiki Clan.

Of course, Byakuya had insisted he was ready for this, to perform his first soul burial, to successfully locate a soul and help it transition. And he was, or at least should be; he had practised for this, had been shown by other shinigami, there was nothing that could go wrong. 

It was no gargantuan task in itself and yet, once the Gate had closed, Byakuya stood where he was, rooted in place, suddenly terrified that something might go wrong.  It wasn’t just that he himself would fail, no, he would bring shame to the whole family if he did not perform adequately and as expected.

What would his grandfather say if he returned without having done what he’d promised? No, that was entirely unacceptable and yet, Byakuya’s feet did not move. His grip on his zanpaktou tightened, the blade too large for him still to carry at his hip.

Anger rose in him like wildfire when he continued to idle at the spot where the World Gate had spat him out.  This was ridiculous!

Kuchiki Byakuya, next in line for leading one of the greatest noble families in all of Seireitei could not be afraid of such a simple thing as a soul burial...His anger about his own hesitation was what compelled him forward, his steps more of a stomping as he went towards the place where the soul was supposed to be according to the detection device.

The longer he walked, the more he calmed. The Living World was as beautiful as it was terrible, truly the middle thing between Hell and Soul Society.  Snow covered his path still, but it was already melting, droplets of water falling from the branches of the cherry trees above him, the first few buds on them preparing for their oncoming bloom.

A lake came in sight, frozen still and beautiful but no doubt thawing under the warm rays of the spring sun.

The lake was populated, by the living and those who were no longer as such. No one seemed foolish enough to venture too close to the water, but there were many people walking by the side, enjoying the view of early spring, the last breath of winter disappearing from the land. Between horse-drawn carriages and the visitors of some kind of festival, children darted between the legs, played, chased each other, laughed and enjoyed what they could.

The boy hated them. What was so fun about what they were doing? He would have had an easy time pickpocketing and at least enjoying the benefits of his short height. If only he could. 

Beyond the path, beyond the wandering reach of the sakura trees, he sat atop a fallen trunk, half-submerged in the lake. By its stump, a small arrangement of colored paper flowers decorated the ground.

A beep sounded. A short glance at the small device he carried with him let Byakuya know that this was what he’d been looking for. A little boy sitting on a fallen tree. Byakuya regarded him for a moment, from afar. His first soul. The one he would give an honourable burial, the most important duty a shinigami had, according to his grandfather. He swallowed and straightened up, shouldering the burden with resolve now.

He was Kuchiki Byakuya, to be the 28th head of the esteemed Kuchiki family. He could perform a soul burial.

The boy didn’t move, not even when Byakuya approached him. Instead, he carried on staring out across the surface.

“Greetings, wanderer.” Byakuya addressed him formally. Souls deserved respect, his grandfather insisted on it, regardless of their apparent age.

“Go away.”

The soul, a mere boy who could be no older than eight or nine, dismissed the shinigami. He had no interest in being bothered by some other, weird creature. He’d seen enough of those things with masks around to know that he was not alone in the afterlife. 

He was clad in a shabby little yukata, torn and filthy. His feet were bare, his hair white as the melting snow and sticking out messily all over his head. The boy drew his knees up higher and kept staring out across the lake, where the lanterns were being lit and people went about their lives.

Behind him, Byakuya’s eyes widened ever so slightly for a moment. A soul, uninterested in what a shinigami was offering? Certainly not unheard of, but all Byakuya remembered from his training was that souls generally wanted to interact with their shinigami.

It put him in an awkward spot to not be found interesting at all. He tried again, this time clearing his throat to perhaps catch his attention.

“I have come to guide your way out of this plane.” Byakuya offered, certain that that would have to definitely make the little guy interested.

The boy shrugged his shoulders. As he did, the rattle of his soul chain disturbed the quiet of their side of the lake. Here, only the trees and the water bore witness to what would happen to the soul of a boy and his shinigami.

“What took you so long?”

The boy finally turned around. He was skinny, tiny thing, and the chain protruding from his chest looked too heavy for his small body. He didn’t scoot off of the tree trunk just yet, instead looking down at where the paper flowers were beginning to sag due to the molten snow dripping on them.

“I’ve been here for sixteen days.”

Byakuya had no answer for the soul. All he’d been taught was that souls were happy to meet their shinigami, but this one looked annoyed and sad.

He opened his mouth to say something, closed it again before finally he found some appropriate words to deal with the rudeness in a courteous way, as he’d been taught. A shinigami, especially one of the noble houses, had to be polite, an example for others.

“I came as fast as I could, soul.” 

His gaze fell onto the flowers. The water had some of them fall apart and it was then that Byakuya noticed they were made out of paper. Someone very poor had taken a lot of loving effort to make them look as real as possible for the sake of a lost loved one. From the flowers, his eyes wandered back up over dirty, wet feet, a torn yukata made from cheap fabric and the white hair, standing in all directions. The soul’s face was dirtied as well and yet he looked at him with annoyance.

No matter. Byakuya readied himself. This soul was clearly in need for a burial and he would perform it. His zanpaktou he’d put on his back, sash around his shoulder on his way here because it was easier to carry like that, but when he went for the hilt to draw it, it turned out his arm was entirely too short.

The soul watched him with disinterest on his face. This was the first shinigami he’d ever seen, but somehow, he looked kind of out of place and young. Great. So they couldn’t even send a proper shinigami from heaven for him? Was he worth that little in the afterlife too?

“Can you even draw your sword? You look stuck.”

And stupid. The boy began to pick at his nose.

The finger up the nose was the last straw for Byakuya. Honour or not, he would not have this little brat be rude to him like this and make fun of him. A b lush high in his cheeks for being called out on his unsuccessful maneuver, Byakuya let go off his zanpaktou again and brought his finger up to point at the ungrateful little runt he had the misfortune of meeting as his first soul.

“I can draw my sword of course, and you better sit still and accept the sacred ritual I’m about to perform!”

“No thanks. You don’t look like you even know which end is pointy.” The boy pointed out, sliding off of his tree trunk at last. The cold ground didn’t make any noise beneath his naked feet as he began to wander away from the disappointing shinigami.

“Maybe can you go and get a real shinigami?” He put his arms behind his head, turning his back.

There was rage curling low in his stomach, a fire well-known to Byakuya that threatened to swallow him whole and make him show this soul what he was capable of. He took a moment to force it down, unwilling to let himself go this much just because some bratty little soul with a face like a frog tried hard to be difficult.

Once he had calmed himself, the soul was not where it had been before. Byakuya’s head whipped up, eyes searching for his target. The boy was still his duty, he remembered with a growing headache. Despite his rude behaviour, Byakuya was still tasked with his burial! He could not, no, he would not disappoint his grandfather.

Shunpo brought him close to the soul again.

“Hey, don’t just go wandering off!” He ordered, frowning, “You want to go on, right? Then let me perform your Soul Burial. I am a real shinigami!”

“Sorry, can you go away? I don’t want to deal with you right now.” The boy was making his way across the lake, his feet never touching the thin, breaking ice as he wandered towards the other shore, teeming with life. It was the absolute opposite of the quiet little clearing by the lake that he’d been occupying before.

Ignorant of Byakuya’s pursuit, the soul approached the bright stalls. The smell and sound of something like a small festival permeated the air.

The soul remained uninterested and Byakuya felt at a loss when he disappeared between the living. They had reached a populated path between booths that sold food or offered games. Lanterns lit the way and the attending people seemed to be in a good mood all around.

Byakuya avoided them as best as he could, but he could only find himself staring for a moment.

What was he supposed to do? Nobody had told him that souls actively wanted to avoid moving on. Nobody had taught him what to do in such a case.

Fear crept up his neck and the image of coming back, unaccomplished, a disgrace, had him shudder. No, that could not be. Panic drove him forward as he suddenly began running again, forgetting about shunpo altogether. Byakuya dashed through the people, noticed by the living only as a small gust of wind whooshing through their midst.

Where was the little brat?

Not far from where the shinigami had lost sight of him, the boy had come to a stop. Finding a new perch wasn’t difficult at all, and he sat on one of the bright booths where a gaggle of children laughed and looked down into a large, wooden bowl. Inside of it, golden flashes darted between colorful rods. 

The children were all a little ragged, their yukatas not unlike the one the soul was wearing. They were around his age, pushing and shoving each other before one or the other tried to grab a fish from the bowl.

“Tch. You’re so stupid and slow, Shiki.” the soul boy commented, but none would hear his words.

Byakuya wasn’t out of breath from running when he finally found him but rather from the stress the whole disaster of a situation caused him.

He was about to yell at the little boy’s soul, tell him that it was time now and he wouldn’t just let him run away again, when he saw what he’d stopped at.

His gaze fell on the dirty clothing of the children trying to catch a goldfish and Byakuya made the suggestion. The soul’s friends, obviously.

Byakuya wondered what that must feel like. He didn’t have many friends himself, and childish activities like these were foreign to him. Perhaps it was specifically that which made his anger dissipate and awakened his interest.

From his point of view he couldn’t see what they were actually trying to catch the fish with, but when he moved a little to the side, he saw that scoopers made out of thin paper were to be used.

Byakuya crossed his arms. “That is not fair.” He commented, not really speaking to the soul boy, but rather to his still living friends, trying to catch the goldfish, “The scoop dissolves in water.”

“Yeah, of course. They just want you to think you have a chance.” The boy shrugged again, but his eyes, weary but also of the brightest teal, lingered on the bowl. The gaggle of children soon seemed to lose heart and interest and dispersed into the crowd, laughing at each other.

The boy watched them go.

“They just gave up, like that.” a frown creased his head and he clenched a tiny fist around a bright, decorative flower on the stall. Of course, his hand sank through it.

“They just left me.”

Byakuya looked up at him, slight frown on his face, then turned to watch his friends run away. Well, former friends.

“Yes.” He confirmed as he watched them go, “There’s nothing else to do for the living, but to go on.” Byakuya looked back up at him, saw the sadness in his eyes. It caused the tiniest of stings in his chest, the soul’s situation affecting him ever so slightly.

He sighed and gestured, “Would you rather see them cry now?”

“Of course I would!” the boy didn’t seem at all placated by the assurances of the teenaged shinigami. He kicked his dirty feet against the booth, but of course, they just sank through the material. 

“They should be sad! They don’t even remember me now.”

Something else welled up in his eyes but the boy wiped across them instead. His other hand was still on the paper flower decorating the booth, a bright tulip. It was a much more cheerful version of the ones decorating the stump by his tree trunk across the lake.

“Everyone will forget me.”

Byakuya stared at him, saw the way in which the boy’s soul tried to fight back tears. Tears weren’t born of anger, anger was what came after desperation, sadness, fear.  He tried to understand the boy’s situation, really, this time.

Desperation must come from being alone, suddenly unable to communicate with the world you were ripped from, especially at such a young age. Sadness was clear, the soul’s friends obviously having moved on. Fear of the unknown in front of him.

His grip on his zanpaktou tightened as the stinging in his chest grew more adamant, like a physical pain almost.

“I won’t forget you.” Byakuya said loudly, firmly, to battle the pain in him and the odd wetness in his own eyes. That appeared to gather the soul’s attention, so he just went with the moment, with what he felt was right to say,

“You’re my first soul to help along. I promise you, I won’t ever forget you.”

The boy looked like he was going to sneer about Byakuya’s comment, but his grumpy little face was made all the more pathetic by the tears that had escaped. His soul chain was thick and quite short, so close to fully releasing his soul into a state that would never enter the right place.

But he didn’t know any of that. He only knew that this boy in front of him was promising something quite important.

“What’s your name?” the sullen soul of a boy asked, sniffling.

“Kuchiki Byakuya.”

Where he came from that meant something, but Byakuya was quickly learning that despite the similarity between the worlds, some things were different after all. This soul did not know about the Kuchiki clan, had no idea what honour it was to be the first soul to bury for such a noble family’s heir.

“And yours?” Did souls remember their names after they died? Probably. Byakuya knew they received the same name when they lived in Soul Society, the only thing that still bound them to their human lives.

“Hitsugaya Toshiro,” the boy replied, clearing the last of his tears away. He looked just as sullen as before, but perhaps a little weight had been lifted off of his thin shoulders.

But he wasn’t ready to go. Not yet. He didn’t want just his name to be remembered, and if this shinigami, this Byakuya, was going to know about him, then he should know everything. Making the decision to take the lead, Toshiro hopped off of the booth and held out one grubby, small hand.

“You have to know. So you can promise to remember. You have to know about me.”

There was no training for this, Byakuya thought, and if there was, he hadn’t received it. He knew the techniques, the formal approach and the methods, but he had no idea a Soul Burial required such heart.

It was entirely strange, but it affected him in a way that made it impossible for him to deny the soul’s request. He took a step forward and reached for the soul’s small hand, took it in his own and held onto it. It was cold, surprisingly so, but soft nonetheless.

“Show me then.”

Toshiro nodded and tugged him along. Byakuya was the only thing he had been able to touch in two weeks, so he didn’t let go of his nice, warm hand. He lead them away from the festival, back towards the lake. The path grew emptier the further they got, until only the long, thin shadows of the trees watched over them.

“I came here with Shiki and the others,” he explained to Byakuya as he pointed at the lake. It was still dark and still beneath the thin crust of ice, the water cold and black.

“To make shaved ice. And to maybe skate.”

They were so far from the festival now, the noise was dulled entirely by the dusk of evening around them.

“I saw, in the water, a big fish. Really big, and white, like you can’t believe.” Toshiro had lead Byakuya back towards the grove, which opened onto the small clearing where the stump and trunk still remained, undisturbed. The paper flowers looked wilted and sad compared to the bright decorations at the festival.

“I thought if I could catch it...” he fell silent. From here, one could see, in the distance, a hole in the shimmering ice, black water lapping at the surface.

Byakuya’s eyes followed where Toshiro pointed at, darted across the stump, recognising they had come a full circle, and then out onto the ice.  The hole in it appeared dark now that the sun had set, dark and entirely unwelcoming. Noises from the festival were barely audible here.  This was where Hitsugaya Toshiro had died, drowned, no doubt, after breaking through the thin ice.

The small hand in his, Byakuya squeezed lightly, reassuringly. Despite his noble upbringing, his feelings had always been there with him his temper as well as his soft spots.

And somehow, this little soul had wedged itself right into one of his soft spots.

His grandfather would probably scold him for developing so much affection in such short a time for something as small as this, but Byakuya could not care less in this moment. This was his Soul Burial and he was going to do it right. Make it good for this little soul who deserved at least this last thing, some comfort.

“Sounds like you were good at catching fish. Better than your friends, certainly.” Byakuya said, softly, aiming to alleviate the mood. An idea formed in his head, “Do you think you could beat me?"

Of course he couldn’t, Byakuya had had excellent shinigami training and this was a mere soul. H e focused on his reiatsu, concentrating on shaping a part of it into two small forms that floated in the air before him and Toshiro.

Slowly, they developed fins, scales and a tail until two glowing goldfish swam in the air.  Byakuya held up both of his hands.

“First one to hold it in both hands wins.”

“Tch. You don’t know anything, Byakuya.” Toshiro had let go as soon as the glowing began, and he was entirely absorbed by the time the fish actually swam through the air.

“I’m the best fish-catcher in town.” Immediately, he began to chase the winking fish and its glowing trail. It never lingered anywhere for long and Toshiro began to run after it, determination written into his face. The fish swam out across the ice, but as a soul, Toshiro could run on it quite well.

“I’ve got you!” finally, he pounced and the fish disappeared between his fingers. But just as it did, something cracked the ice beneath him. He didn’t fall, but something large, white and grinning came out of the water.

The haunting echo of the hollow’s cry echoed across the lake.

“Toshiro!” Byakuya dashed over, fish forgotten and evaporating as he focused his concentration elsewhere. The hollow was large, had six long legs it used to crawl out onto the ice and a fishtail that thrashed in the water and broke more of the thin surface. On its front legs it carried two claws, like a crab’s. A thoroughly scary appearance what with the grim-looking mask and the hole through its chest.

Byakuya’s arms found the lithe form of Toshiro, raised him up and removed him from immediate danger. Not one second too late, because the hollow’s sharp front claw cut through the air where the soul it was obviously out for had stood a moment ago.

He set down Toshiro further away, but still on the ice as that allowed for a better sight of him and no trees or booths to lose the slippery hollow between.

“Stay right here. I’ll protect you.”

Byakuya’s hand went to his sword and he drew his zanpaktou with some resolve. There _had_ been training for this, and Byakuya had excelled at it. 

When the hollow went for another attack, he dodged and swung the katana with some force, hitting the creature on the side. Not fatally, but the following howl was satisfying.  Byakuya was proud for a split second until the claw just barely missed him, thanks to his quick reflexes.  Perhaps he ought to thank Yoruichi for her training, but she’d never know about that thought.

Now enraged, the hollow was faster, but also more uncoordinated. Byakuya brought some distance between him and Toshiro and the hollow followed, thankfully. As it ran towards him, he raised his hand and focused.

“Hado Number Four: Byakurai!”

White lightning shot from his finger and pierced the hollow’s neck. Its strangled cry this time around did not make Byakuya stop to pride himself on it, not for a moment. Instead, he jumped up, his blade at the ready and sunk his zanpaktou into the mask.

Toshiro was about as helpful as a fish during the fight. When the monster came, he’d been ready to...well, whatever it would do to him would happen. But the shinigami, Byakuya, he came to save him. Toshiro didn’t see much of the fight, having curled up to try and be an even smaller target than he already was. He did peek through his fingers when the hollow howled with pain, though, and Byakuya remained uneaten.

By the time Byakuya shot lightning from his fingers, Toshiro was not scared anymore. When he sliced open the mask and the big, awful monster began to disappear, Toshiro wasn’t sullen about him anymore, either. As soon as Byakuya turned away from the hollow’s disappearance, he’d be met by a slight impact near his waist as Toshiro hugged him tightly, doing his best impression of a small tree-dwelling bear or monkey.

He didn’t cry anymore or sniffle, but he squeezed himself tightly to Byakuya.

Not having anticipated such a change of heart and his mind still racing from the fight that had ended just seconds ago, Byakuya found himself entirely thunderstruck by the sudden affection poured onto him. Surprise was written in his noble features as he looked down at the white mob of hair somewhere in his stomach region.

Toshiro was… hugging him?

He sheathed his zanpaktou and tried desperately to keep the small smile off of his face. It insisted and he couldn’t keep it away anyway, so he let it happen and brought up an arm to wrap around Toshiro’s head.

“Hey, Toshiro. It’s okay.”  He patted his head and repeated his words, even more softly, “It’s okay. It’s gone.”

“I know that,” the voice came only muffled from Byakuya’s stomach, where Toshiro was looking for comfort of any kind at all. It wasn’t really the hollow, or how horrible it had looked. He’d seen those big, scary monsters before, especially when he wandered into the city. They lurked on corners, they stared his way, they promised to eat him and crunch his bones.

No, it wasn’t the appearance of the hollow that had put such fear into him. It was death he feared, as strange as it sounded.

“...does it hurt?” his voice had grown smaller, less defiant, definitely afraid, “Will you cut me like that thing?”

The boy, no, _Toshiro,_ was full of surprises. Never had Byakuya thought Soul Burials could go like this, never had he considered souls as anything but recipients of a shinigami’s duties. But they were persons, or had been, with their own minds and their own emotions, their own fears.  For a moment, Byakuya didn’t understand what he was asking about and then, it suddenly came to him.

Toshiro was not afraid of the hollow, he feared what came after.

Byakuya put his hands on his shoulders and detached him from his own person so he could kneel down in front of him, bringing himself on eye level. Toshiro’s eyes were of a teal colour, bright and clear like a mountain lake or a rare crystal. They were the final straw to convince him that he would never forget this one, his first soul, not ever.

But that could come after. Now, Toshiro was scared and Byakuya could help him.

“I won’t cut you.” He said, carefully, “But I will have to use my sword to perform the ritual.”

Byakuya squeezed Toshiro’s shoulder, lightly.

“You’ll go to Soul Society. That’s the place where I come from and it’s a lot like here. You’ll do just fine.”

“I won’t disappear?” Toshiro’s eyes were full of concern, and entirely too much understanding of the world for a boy his age. He still had hold of Byakuya’s clothes, refusing to let go, even as he calmed down in the presence of the young shinigami.

“And it won’t hurt?”

“You will not disappear.” Byakuya stated because he knew that for a fact. As for Soul Burials hurting or not, he had to take a wild guess, for Toshiro’s sake,  “And it won’t hurt.” 

He loosened his zanpaktou once more from where he’d put it back on his back a moment ago and held it out for Toshiro to look at.

“This is a shinigami’s most precious tool. We call it a zanpaktou, a reflection of our power and soul.” Byakuya looked at the blade’s white sheath and the lavender-wrapped hilt, regarding it with reverence before continuing to speak.

“I’ll, err,” A pause, then, for a lack of a better explanation, he said, “Have to tap you on the forehead with this end.” Byakuya’s hand went to the pommel, then he looked up at Toshiro’s eyes again.

“Are you ready?”

“I guess so,” Toshiro just watched Byakuya as he explained, his fingers still curled into the fine fabric of his hakama. The blade was pretty, but that didn’t mean the ritual wouldn’t hurt. And Toshiro didn’t know if Byakuya was lying or not, but he looked kind, right now.

“Okay.” Toshiro let go of the shinigami’s clothes and straightened up. It didn’t lend him much height, he still barely reached Byakuya’s stomach, but Toshiro puffed his little chest out anyway.

“I’m ready.”

Byakuya stayed where he was, kneeling in front of the first soul he was going to send onwards.

His hand wrapped around his zanpaktou’s hilt, just like he had been shown by his teachers. The blade came out once more, but the sharp end pointed away from Toshiro’s small body. He raised the hilt upwards, pointing the dull end towards Toshiro’s forehead. Byakuya’s eyes met Toshiro’s again.

“You’ll be remembered, Hitsugaya Toshiro. For as long as I live, and that I vow.”

The zanpaktou’s pommel met Toshiro’s forehead in a very gentle way.

It was just a very gentle touch. Toshiro had closed his eyes, but nothing bad happened at all. Instead, his body just tingled a little, and the chain in chest rattled briefly, before it began to disappear, freeing him of its burden.

Toshiro looked back at Byakuya, who wore a serious and sincere expression; good, maybe he really would keep his promise. More of his body began to dissolve, quicker and quicker, Toshiro’s form became nothingness as his reishi made its way to where it should have been, days ago. Before he lost his mouth, Toshiro at least managed to speak one more time, his eyes still on the shinigami that had given him his final ritual.

“Thank you, Byakuya."

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Baby Bya was adorable, i will never be over it. RIP bleach fandom btw, i miss you.


End file.
